The wind has been raging since earlier in the evening; the gusts are rattling the black windows like a bony hand on a coffin lid. Just need to sleep for a little. Actually no, it’s midday and sweltering. We’re standing, squinting on a crowded, canary yellow beach; where is the towel? And our bag? Walking a little we now seem to remember some sort of explosion. Yes, about 60 feet to our left; and how it momentarily illuminated the ruin and mud and bodies. With closed eyes we pour the remaining contents of our water bottle over our face and look down, we quickly grab for the paper towels, as we have absently over-poured a glass with Diet Coke — the microwave beeps. Oh right, haha, our burrito! So hungry. The tortilla is super hot to the touch; we pull back our hand. The sharp pain triggers an acute frontal headache. We deeply and slowly rub our eyes and temples. “Miss. Miss! It’s green. C’mon; you’re gonna make me miss my flight.” “I’m so sorry. I’ll try to make it up.” We push on the gas trying to remember if this is the right way to Sunset Blvd. It is starting to rain again and a gusty wind is picking up. The light at the corner turns red. There are two cars ahead of us so we can’t turn. Impatiently we tap our fingers on the top of the dividing console. It sounds hollow and reminds us of someone tapping on a coffin lid. The headache is so strong now. Jeez will it ever stop. How long has it been thumping. At least the throb is no longer emotional or spatial. Why are we even saying that? It is hard to tell if we are floating or falling or if it matters.